Always Is a Strong Word
by SyrupylikeBreakfastinMontag
Summary: Draco has become used to Harry always obsessing over what he might be up to, but what will happen when Harry suddenly doesn't seem to care anymore? How will Draco handle the loss of their feud? HP/DM DM/HP Draco/Harry Harry/Draco Contains slash.


Always Is a Strong Word

*Author's Note: I hope you guys enjoy this story! I know I should have used the time to be adding the next chapter to my multi-chapter fic, but this story was just dying to get out of me! It is told from Draco's perspective. Enjoy!*

I can always see him watching me, can always feel his green gaze boring holes into the back of my neck. It's right pathetic, really, the way he obsesses over me. All I have to do is smirk when I walk past him in the halls, and he'll become so bloody interested in what I may be up to that I'll have him following me around for days under that cloak of his. The Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the world's Golden Boy can thwart He Who Must Not Be Named over and over again, but can't get me out of his head. I can always pull a reaction out of him, can always get under his skin with the stupidest of insults, the most petty of comments. It doesn't matter how uncreative what I say is, he'll still bristle up instantly in a way he doesn't for anyone else. It's pathetic, really.

Except today, as I sip at my pumpkin juice at the Slytherin table, something feels off. It takes me a moment before I finally realize what it is: Potter isn't watching me. I've become so accustomed to his brooding stare being fixed on me that it feels strange to not have his attention like that. I surreptitiously peer over at the Griffindor table, nodding absent mindedly at something Pansy says as I peer along the row of red and gold clad students until my gaze finally settles on Potter's scruffy head. He isn't paying any attention to me at all, just laughing at something said by that Weasley girl. Something daft I have no doubt, definitely not something worth taking his attention away from me. I narrow my eyes and glare fiercely across the room at Potter, as though if I glare hard enough he'll be able to feel it and will turn towards me. After all, I've always been able to feel when his eyes were on me, but the wanker just keeps talking to that little ginger twat. I used to think the Weasley girl was pretty, but in this moment I find her right revolting. How could Potter be looking at her and not me?

"Oy, Draco, are you listening to a word I'm saying?" asks Pansy in annoyance, tapping me sharply on the shoulder. I don't even turn to look at her, unable to tear my eyes away from Potter's laughing form.

"Yeah, yeah of course, Pansy," I mutter, not really paying attention to her at all. Pansy's eyes narrow as she examines my features, following my gaze to Potter. A tiny smirk forms on her thin lips.

"Tsk tsk Draco, upset the Chosen one isn't busy brooding over you?" she purrs, leaning forward to twirl a pale lock of my hair around one of her well-manicured fingers, "Jealous that Weasley girl has all of his precious attention?" I stiffen instantly, tearing my eyes away from Potter to glare indignantly at Pansy, jerking my head away and pulling my hair free from her teasing caresses.

"I most definitely am not jealous of that little twat." I spit, and it's true. I'm not jealous of Weasley. I just want to go over there and smash her ugly little face in, and then insult her until she runs away to go cry in a corner. Insulting her; actually, that doesn't sound like a bad idea. Not only would it help to satisfy my anger towards her (definitely _Not_ caused by jealousy), but it would also be a sure way to get Potter's attention. There is nothing I would like better at this moment than to see that intense anger in Potter's eyes as he yells uncontrollably at me, to see him tremble slightly in that way that only fighting with me causes, to feel my power over him.

I push my plate away from me and stand up, ignoring Pansy's amused grin and walk over to the Griffindor table, making myself strut instead of running like part of me wants to: the part that wants to smash Weasley's head into her plate. I stand between Potter and the Weasley girl, smirking my best cocky smirk.

"Well, well Potter. Never would have thought you would date so far down. Or does hideous and a blood traitor turn you on?" Potter stops laughing and looks coldly up at me. There's something different in his gaze though, and with a sharp sting of surprise, I realize that the usual intensity he gets when he looks at me isn't there. His look is just blank, empty of the usual fierceness.

"Sod off, Malfoy," he says flatly. It feels like a punch in the face the way he sounds like he doesn't even care. No matter what I've said in the past, no matter how daft or obvious it was, it had always been able to get Potter's blood pumping. But now Potter is just looking coolly up at me, his face blank. He doesn't look angry or even annoyed, just disinterested, and even though I would never admit it, it hurts. A cold thin feeling rises up in my stomach, and to my horror, I can feel a lump beginning to form in my throat, but I cover it by widening my smirk.

"I think I will; I'd hate to be stuck looking at that ugly mug of hers any longer than absolutely necessary," I drawl, sneering down at the flushed and clearly furious Weasley girl, "Don't know how you do it, Potter, although I guess since you've had mirrors around your whole life you must have had a lot of practice looking at ugly features." Normally, this definitely would have drawn a comeback from Potter at the very least, but now he just looks tired.

"Just go then, Malfoy," grumbles Potter, placing a hand defensively on Ginny's shoulder and turning away from me, not even bothering to meet my eyes. I can't stand to be there any longer, to feel the disinterest coming from Potter, so I turn, walking faster than I would like to admit away from Griffindor table and out of the main hall. I can't stand to be there a second longer. I can't stand to see him looking at her instead of me.

Days go by, and then it's been over a week and I still can't draw a reaction from the stony faced Griffindor. My best insults, my finest sneers, not even a light shove can pull any anger from him, not even a glare. All I keep getting from Potter are weary looks and muttered requests for me to leave him alone. The fire is gone between us. A fire I'm beginning to see more and more that I miss, that I need more than I'd like to admit, a fire that made me special to Potter in some way.

Finally, I have no choice but to corner Potter. I need answers, need to know why the fuck things have changed between us. I need to know where his hatred of me has gone. My time comes one day after potions. Potter stops where he was walking in front of me in the hall and peers down in frustration into his book bag.

"Bollocks," he mutters, before looking up apologetically at his sidekicks the Weasel and Granger, "I think I left my potions book at my desk. I'll meet you in guys in the dining hall in a minute, ok?" His friends nod and Potter hurriedly turns and runs past me back up the corridor towards the now empty potions room.

"I'll meet you guys in the dining hall," I say quickly to Crabb and Goyle, not even glancing at them as I turn around and begin to follow Potter back up the hallway.

"Where are you going?" asks Crabb, but I just wave him off.

"None of your bloody business," I call over my shoulder as I begin to half run after Potter. I see him rush into the potions room and dart in after him, smiling victoriously to myself when I see that the classroom is empty aside from the two of us. I close the door loudly behind me as I enter, making Potter look up from where he had been peering around his desk in search of his book. He frowns as I march along the aisle between the desks towards him until I am mere inches from his stony features.

"What the bloody hell has been going on with you, Potter?" I demand angrily, glaring fiercely up into Harry's wide green eyes, "Why have you been behaving so… oddly towards me?" Potter just looks at me for a minute, examining my angry face until I feel myself blush under the scrutiny.

"Why do you care so much, Malfoy?" he asks calmly, looking at me with an emotion I can't quite place as he waits for my reaction. My blush deepens and I can feel it burning hotly in my cheeks as I stutter out my reply, "I-I don't care. I'm just curious is all. It's an awfully sudden change is all." Potter just continues to stare calculatingly at me, before he finally looks away and down at the floor. When his gaze lifts to meet mine again, however, he smirks and there is something dark flashing in the depths of his oh-so-green eyes.

"Oh, so that's all is it? You were just curious. You weren't upset about me suddenly not paying attention to you at all." Potter takes a step closer to me, and I'm suddenly uncomfortably aware of every movement of his mouth and the way his hair is falling across the crest of one of his sharp cheekbones.

"You weren't at all upset that you suddenly didn't have any connection to me," Potter continues, taking yet another step closer to me. And now I can feel the heat of his breath ghost over my very flushed face, can see the flecks of darker green in his twinkling gaze. I know that I should be protesting, should be saying that he's being mental, but I can't move, can't think. I can't tear my gaze away from those perfectly rosy lips that are taunting me so effectively.

"You want to kiss me don't you?" whispers Potter. He's so dangerously close to me, and suddenly, all I want to do is follow what he's saying and lean in to capture those poisonous lips with my own.

"Do you want me, Malfoy?" murmurs Potter, looking straight into my eyes from under his dark lashes, and despite myself I am nodding. Potter sneers and leans in, until his lips are just a hair's breadth away from mine.

"Say it," he whispers and I can feel his words on my lips.

"I want you." I gasp, and with that he leans in, pressing his lips harshly against my own. It isn't a tender kiss; there is no affection in the way he forces his tongue into my mouth, rubbing it against my own and along the roof of my mouth as though determined to taste every part of me. Despite myself, a syrupy moan slips from my lips, prompting Potter to pull away and smirk once more before he leans down to nip at the pale flesh of my neck. He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck and along the jut of my collarbone. I know that I should be protesting, or taking charge, or just doing something, but I can't think properly. My mind has temporarily been turned into an aroused mush. Then fingers are grappling with the buttons of my shirt and part of me wakes up a little. I shake my head slightly and look down at where Potter is running his tongue over the now exposed skin of my chest.

My mind is still reeling at the fact that those are Potter's hands caressing the ridges of muscle on my chest, that that is Potter's tongue swirling around one of my nipples, but I resign myself to wonder about how all of this happened later and push Potter back slightly so that I can yank at the fastenings on his trousers. I'll think about what this means later. For now, all I know is that I want him.

As I tug Potters trousers down over his hips and yank his shirt up to expose his taught stomach, I can feel his eyes on me. I can't believe how much I missed that feeling of having all of his attention. I lean forward, running my tongue down the planes of his stomach until my nose is tickled by dark curls and I am inhaling his musky scent. I glance up into Potter's eyes and a shiver runs through me at the intensity of his gaze. His normally bright eyes look dark filled with pupils dilated with lust as I pull his boxers down, freeing his erection. I smirk slightly, still keeping our eyes locked as I slowly bring my lips so close to the tip of his weeping erection that they are almost touching it. I exhale and my smirk widens as I see him shiver at the feel of my breath flushing over his penis.

"Malfoy," he says in a way that I'm sure he meant to sound like a warning, but instead it comes across as almost pleading. Satisfied that my teasing is working, I take the head of Potter's prick into my mouth, swirling my tongue around its velvety surface and lapping at the salty droplets of pre-cum there. I can feel the pressure of my own erection trapped inside my trousers as Potter moans softly and I take him further into my mouth, laving at the underside of his erection with the flat of my tongue. He tries to buck into my mouth, to push himself further into that wet warmth, but I reach out with one hand to grasp his hip and hold him still, my other hand reaching down to release the pressure on my own cock. My head bobs up and down on him and I'm swirling my tongue around his erection and sucking with all I'm worth, doing my best to pull those delicious moans from Potter's lips, the ones that make the hand on my own cock move faster. Potter's fists are tangled in my hair, and suddenly he gives my hair a sharp tug, making my eyes water slightly in pain as he cries out and jerks under my ministrations.

"Draco!" he cries as fluid splashes suddenly against the back of my throat. I gag slightly, Potter's hands keeping me from pulling my head away, and so with no other choice available to me, I swallow the salty liquid. It's swallow or choke. I can hear Potter panting as he comes down from the high of his orgasm, and I can feel his eyes on me as I continue to pleasure myself. A second later I am coming, my own cum hot and slippery on my fingers. When I open my eyes I see Potter examining me with a blank expression on his face. A momentary thrill of fear courses through me at the cold way he's looking at me, but a second later he leans in and grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging me towards him in a harsh kiss. It's all teeth and tongues and anger, and then Potter is pushing me away from him and pulling his pants back up.

He looks me square in the eyes and I can feel the spark of his fury with me. "I hate you," he says harshly and I can cry I'm so relieved. It will all be ok so long as he still hates me. That means I'll still be special to him in some way. The opposite of love isn't hate: it's indifference. So long as he still hates me it will all be ok. It will all be ok.

He glances at me one more time before he turns away and bolts from the room, unable to face me or what we did a second longer. A tear runs down over my flushed cheek, but it will all be ok. It will all be ok so long as he keeps hating me, so long as there is still that passion between us.

It will all be ok.

*Author's note: I hope you guys will forgive me for the bittersweet ending; perhaps if you ask nicely enough I'll add another chapter where there parting is more sweet, but who knows. I rather like this way of ending it. Please review with your feedback and thanks for reading! I'm taking requests for stories, so if any of you have a prompt you want me to work off of, just let me know! Thank you!*


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